


Comfortable

by BeatriceImpresaria



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatriceImpresaria/pseuds/BeatriceImpresaria
Summary: A second person story about a woman who can manipulate reality... and has a fat fetish.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

You don’t understand how thankful I was when you finally confessed that you loved me in sophomore year in college. It was a heavy weight off my chest. I wanted to love you for so long, not in the way that ‘girlfriends’ did, but as my girlfriend, my beloved, my red-stringed ruby-haired rose. You were the only person who ever attracted my affections, and I cried in the bathroom after you asked me out. It was one of the most joyous moments of my life; I could finally call you my love after all those years of holding onto calls, desperate for your voice to fill my ears for as long as possible; passionate days at the beach where I was more focused on you, all of you, than even the beauty of the most magnificent shorelines in the world; and rancorous sleepovers, where we spoke about the girls we liked without ever saying if we liked each other. We talked about everything so that, when you finally confessed, you knew just about everything about me. Everything about me except one single thing.

It wasn’t your fault, though; I never told anyone about the powers that I had. I wasn’t very keen on the fact that I could manipulate reality to my will; it had always felt false to do so permanently, given that I could hurt someone’s feelings if they knew what I did. While I definitely made some mistakes with them as a kid, they collectively provided enough immediate consequences to knock some sense into my head quickly. I got this grave sense of responsibility with how I would use them; I couldn’t upset the order of reality, even if that order was… surprisingly malleable from my youthful tests. 

Throughout my teenage years, I only really used the powers to let off steam and to get enough sleep in the morning. I did practice with them and they grew as I did, but I was still quite apprehensive about using them. In my teenage angst, I was even reminded by myself about how little I actually deserved them. To you, that translated to a self-hatred that I possessed, and you supported me as much as you could through my teenage hormonal problems. It was with you where I found myself first struggling not to use my own powers; every time you found a bit of money on the ground for an ice cream cone or for your piggy bank, it was me paying you back bit by bit for your support and your help.

It was only when you pronounced your love for me that the urge to use my powers for good, to make you more comfortable in life, seemed to grow and try to overwhelm me. I wanted you to get comfortable, out of college, into the working world. We both found good jobs in different fields, comfortable enough to make a living and buy a house with a mortgage. I wanted to scale things up slowly, ease you into the life I wanted for us. But, despite how much you loved me and how much the job you had was in the position you said that you wanted, it seemed like you were stressing yourself out. The boss was working you too hard, leaving you to come home feeling too tired for anything else. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself working. I didn’t want you to feel scared. I just wanted you to feel comfortable. So, that’s why I did all this.

You had always been skinny as a damn rail. When you stretched your arms up in the air in your lovely bikinis or did jumping jacks, I could see the shape of your ribs against your skin. When we got to college, you actually started eating and working out, finally filling out. Your clothes fit a bit… differently; your jeans filled out a bit in the rear end while the very tiny paunch I would occasionally see when your hoodie fluttered upwards disappeared practically overnight. You got stronger; you thickened out just a tad, and I loved watching you transform from a toothpick of a teenager into a fit young woman. It seemed more fitting for you, a defender of someone like me who kept my powers under wraps.

Once we finally got together, I wasted no time in exploring your body in the way that I had wanted for so long. Your curves were lovely to trace, especially your trim stomach, the lines of a two-pack being a favorite of mine. Your waist flared out lovingly to create the hips that I grasped onto as we made love, with nary a love handle in sight. Your legs were shapely, calves defined and toned, signs of the work you’d put in to make yourself fit. And I appreciated the work that you put in, don’t get me wrong; it just seemed in bad faith, given your fervent love of eating and the denial of your true self that I saw happening almost every day.

You indulged on our cheat days; these were special occasions for us where you’d end up packing away four thousand calories in a single day. With your normal calorie needs, considering how active you were and how long you spent in the gyms in the mornings pumping iron, you knew that they couldn’t be very common. Still, for rewards, for special days, it was a wonderful time for both of us. For you, you got to indulge in the meals that you usually restricted yourself from having. This included cakes; waffles; fried chicken, cheesecakes, and other fattening delights in amounts that would make normal people sick. Things that, without severe restriction, would make you a very robust woman.

You had confided in me years ago that you had a certain thing that made you go wild. You stammered and struggled to tell me about it, taking ten minutes even to let it out. I have to admit: You were quite adorable in that moment, finally telling me that you had a stuffing kink and had dreams of being able to just let go, to indulge fantasies, and let yourself finally go. You made me love you even more now, with how adorable you were in that moment and how much you shared my own fantasies. I loved watching you eat on those cheat days, being so comfortable in your yoga pants and tank top devouring a gigantic slice of cheesecake after a bowl of fettuccine Alfredo that would make a world champion eater go into a food coma. It seemed like a more natural state of being for you than ceaselessly working your ass off in the gym in desperation to keep such an unhealthy balance going.

In comparison, on your normal days, I saw you practically gag trying to eat some of your meals. While I made you the kale salads and the tofu scrambles you said you liked, the unmistakable grimace and the nose scrunch that I saw when you ate the former confirmed to me that you were only torturing yourself with these ‘health trends’. I almost had to convince you on some days to have some pizza that I ordered after ‘accidentally’ forgetting to lay out something healthy from the freezer for our dinner. You said it would ruin your diet, but you had barely eaten enough for yourself that day. Judging by your cheat days and the amount you had worked out most days, I knew you could probably put back half of each pizza and be fine.

Eventually, I had seen it happen enough that I couldn’t stand by you continuing to torture yourself with these sorry excuses for meals and I wanted to do something about it. I was planning to propose to you and I couldn’t stand to see you torture yourself so much to keep yourself fit when we both knew that neither of us would mind if you got big. In fact, I was slowly getting enamored with thoughts of you as a big lady after our talks about your dreams and kinks, even playing out the fantasy in the bedroom, and I could feel a nagging sensation in my fingers, almost begging me to snap it into reality and never look back.

But, I didn’t. As much as I felt you would love it, I wasn’t about to make a change you weren’t aware of. I felt like I would be destroying what made you the woman that I loved and wanted to marry; it wouldn’t be the you I knew, even if my memories filled in and the familiarization with that you would be instant, and that nagging feeling was the only thing holding me back from going through it. I knew you would love it, and I wanted to let you have a bit of fun with it, but I wanted to finally let you know about it.

On your twenty-fifth birthday, after enough of those episodes, I realized that this was the perfect day to tell you about my abilities. It was a milestone. An easy target for change, and as good of a birthday present as any. Plus, I wanted to finally propose to you at dinner; we had been together for six years now and I didn’t want to wait any longer. It seemed like a good day to do everything at once, consummating our love as future wives and giving you a little bit of fun, allowing you to indulge and to finally let this thing out of the bag. As excited as I was about it, I was also anxious. I didn’t want you to run from me because of my powers but I also didn’t want to hurt you with the powers. With them, I could let you have a taste of the life that you always seemed to want to indulge in without a care in the world.

I took you out for breakfast to a diner we both loved and where you could order your beloved cinnamon bun pancakes—one of your favorite indulgences, owing to the fact that your parents always took you to this diner for your birthday and due to the fact that they practically recreated cinnamon buns in pancake form. It was these little things, the little indulgences, that you enjoyed so much, but they were so rare for you, reserved only for birthdays; milestones; and raises at work. As you waited, I could see the anticipation in your eyes, the way you hungrily gazed at each of the waitstaff that passed us by, hoping that your precious pancakes would be here as quickly as possible. And I watched you with the same anticipation; it was moments like this where one of my favorite parts of you came out in full force: Your hunger for life and everything in it, and especially for good food.

I had the whole day planned out in terms of the meals. I wasn’t going to err on that part of the plan, at the very least; the dinner reservation was made in advance. For breakfast, you got your precious cinnamon bun pancakes; that tall stack of decadence that you demolished with utter delight. Each bite, swimming with a swirl of icing and pure Vermont maple syrup, was shoved down your waiting maw without hesitation. That look of pure bliss on your face was one of my favorite parts about you, and I could only wish that I could see it more. 

For lunch, we would go to a pub that you liked and let you have your choice of meal. I was probably going to just have a plate of fish and chips, but you weren’t about having small meals on these days. It was more about the atmosphere at lunch; you could have a beer if you wanted (you often did when we went) and watch whatever game was on that day, cheering along with the crowd that was there. You fed off that sort of energy and I obliged you because I knew it made you happy. 

For dinner… well, that was going to be the pièce de résistance. I had reserved a table at a fancy steakhouse in the downtown area where you could chow down on as big of a cut as your heart desired. I savored the thought of that: Your eyes would, without fail, choose a cut that is too big for your stomach, and you’d sit there for as long as you needed in a food coma fit for a glutton as voracious as yourself. You would possibly be regretting your life choices at that moment, but you would also be providing me with a sight that I found utterly exciting. Plus, you definitely wouldn’t regret it if I told you about my powers beforehand. Maybe, you’d even be okay with going as a fatty, able to gobble down the whole steak and trust me to shrink you down afterward! That idea drove me wild with anticipation; I could finally see you loosen your belt, quite literally in this case, and dig in with reckless abandon and a form that more accurately fit your appetite.

A worse person than me could have used these powers for some manner of world domination or even just made you submit to my own will, but I didn’t have those ambitions or desires. I just wanted to live a comfortable life, free from strife or want, with you by my side. I just wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible, and I refrained from using my abilities on you for so long. At first, it was because I didn’t want to hurt our relationship but, now, it was because I didn’t want to damage the trust that we had in each other. While I made minor, benign changes to other things, the changes were meticulous and didn’t directly affect you. They were just for your own sake, I felt, but I slowly grew more uncomfortable with keeping this secret from you. 

As the day went on, my conscience grew heavier and heavier with the prospect. Even if I could change you back without any problem, it would be something that weighed very heavily on my conscience if you reacted poorly to this. It could very easily go wrong. As you indulged greatly at lunch, downing an entire french dip, stacked practically half a foot high with roast beef practically dripping with its juices, and a large basket of fries and your stomach had already distended a bit (A sight that made even my own mouth water), I wanted to make your dinnertime special. It wasn't a night that I wanted to make you waste, given that I had the capability to let you follow your wildest dreams with the snap of a finger. I had wanted to give you the fantasy of a lifetime.

You noticed that I wasn’t as hungry as normal, skating the fries across the basket with a particularly crunchy morsel instead of eating them. I really wasn’t as hungry, more concerned with the fear of what I had to tell you as soon as I could.

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked with concern, having already inhaled your meal. “You usually finish that without a problem.”

“I’m just nervous,” I responded truthfully.

“About what?” You seemed even more invested in what was wrong now. I felt bad putting you on alarm on a day as special as this, your twenty-fifth birthday, but I had to get this right.

“I’m nervous about something important. I have a surprise for you, and I am ready to tell you when we get home. Just not sure how you’re going to take it.” Your eyes lit up. That one detail should have told me all about how you would react when I actually proposed to you tonight. Instead, I was wrapped up in the thought of you reacting negatively to my powers. 

You put your fingers to my lips. “I’ll ask for the check, then. You shouldn’t worry about a thing. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Home is certainly where the hearth is, as the saying goes. The ring I was wanting to propose to you with was in my drawer, acquired recently from a jeweler downtown with the money I had been saving for years. While I was planning to wait a bit longer to finally pop the question, you already seemed so willing. At least, that’s what I thought you were excited about. I was more scared about actually showing you the powers at that point than the proposal. And, with everything that would come next, I wished now that I told you earlier.

“Wait here,” I had said as you sat down on the couch, bouncing with utter excitement. Getting the ring from the drawer was the easy part. Its box, simple and black, held a solid band twisted around an aquamarine gemstone that was nestled in a root of gold. You weren’t one for jewelry most of the time, but I was sure that I had chosen the right one for something you would wear for the rest of your life.

I gulped, trying to quiet the queasiness that took over my stomach and paralyzed me where I stood. Precious seconds ticked by as I just barely forced myself to finally move forward into the room where you continued to sit, waiting for my return. I held the box in my left hand, turned backward so you couldn’t see. Your eyes lit up as I finally entered the room. I tried to stifle my blush as best as I could, but I was always so… transparent to you.

Step by precious, awkward step I finally moved towards you. With each movement, your excitement seemed to grow twofold; you seemed so giddy about what I was going to do but also so anxious, just like me, awaiting the announcement of what I was going to tell you. I finally got close enough, frozen in time as I slowly edged my right leg backward and bent my left leg forwards, down on one knee, and presented the jewelry box to her. “This has been a long time coming. Alicia Danielle Turner, will you marry me?”

You jumped into my arms, hugging me and knocking me to the ground awkwardly. I made sure not to drop the jewelry box, but the way you held me tight, kissing my lips so fervently, made it hard not to. “Oh, yes, Beatrice, I will marry you! I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long! You didn’t have to worry! I love you too much to say no to that.”

A lot of my anxiety melted away, but a large chunk of it remained. “You kinda, uh, forced my hand, Alicia. I was gonna propose to you tonight.”

You stopped kissing me, raising your head up and tilting it with a quizzical look on your face. “Hmm? So, this wasn’t planned?”

“Not really, at least not yet,” I admitted awkwardly. “I… uh, I had a secret that I wanted to tell you first, something that’s been eating at me for a long time and something that I also think you might like.”

Your quizzical look faded, a small smile returning. You got up and pulled me up with you, sitting me next to you on the couch that we had shared so many nights on over the years. “Well, then. Tell me! I want to know so I can help you if you need it.”

“Alright,” I replied. Taking a few moments to find the words, for which you were always so patient with me, I finally was able to tell you about it. “I, uh… I can manipulate reality. I can make it so that anything that I or someone else wants can be real.”

You froze, raising an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” You were biting your lip, though; you seemed to have those dreams welling up in your head, wondering which to say to me first. I could tell that you almost hoped that I wasn’t spouting utter nonsense. “This sounds a bit… far-fetched, honey.”

I reaffirmed it quickly. “No, no, it’s real. Want a demonstration? I’m willing to do anything.” I asked in response. I waited pensively as you mulled over the possibilities, thinking about what you could ask.

“Anything?” You asked, a coy smile on your face. I could tell that you had some ideas in your mind of what you wanted to do.

“Anything for you, honey,” I asked. “Think about your greatest fantasy. I could make it a reality for you if you wanted.”

You asked me to make myself a big beautiful woman. You thought it was a joke and laughed about it. I knew well that you liked big girls; your confession made that completely clear. You just didn’t want to ruin years of hard work so you didn’t choose yourself. One of my biggest regrets was not revealing my powers to you then. This time, I wasn’t going to be fooling around; you were going to finally know about the thing that I have never told anyone else about.

In my mind, I thought of the ideal form that I wanted to take. I thought about all the specifics: clothing; how family and friends would perceive a change; how I got that way… if I left out even one thing, as I had learned through trial and error in the past, things would look suspicious. Reality wouldn’t quite adjust and it would cause problems, and I wasn’t about to let you suffer through any potential issues. This process was somewhat painstaking; I stood there for about thirty seconds, almost sketching in my head how I wanted my body to look.

And, when I felt ready, I stood up and snapped my fingers. 

From the bottom up, the changes happened. First, my bare feet slightly puffed up inside my shoes, which widened ever so slightly to accommodate my new shoe size. My slightly toned calves, slightly strengthened by the occasional jogs that I would take with you, sputtering and struggling to keep up, lost all definition and took on a small layer of fat. My thighs were next, puffing out to a size befitting the trunks of trees with the look of sacks filled with gelatin, looking absurd in contrast with my still lithe upper half.

Next, my behind slowly filled out with fat. The seat of my yoga pants began to shift and expand to fit the new ass that I was growing, its immensity pushing the waistband to greater lengths and leaving it with a great deal of slack to accompany the growth to come. From a small bubble butt came two very pillowy cheeks, each about the size of your head. The couch nearby had its small dent made by my rear expand into a deep groove that would easily fit two and a half of your rears, and my memories filled with moments of your thin form struggling not to fall into the cavern made by my gigantic frame (Detail later about the two of them fat filling up a whole couch!). My hips grew in tandem, becoming the widest thing about me and making the band of the yoga pants look positively uncanny on my cartoonishy bottom-heavy frame. 

My waist and core began to bubble up with fat, slowly inflating outwards and into the waistband of the yoga pants, which seemed to almost pull themselves up over the belly as it filled out. It seemed to start to double over, the first section of my stomach struggling not to bubble over the waistband as the second half of my belly grew downwards inside the clutch of the pants. As I planned, my clothing grew the way I wanted it to alongside my own expansion. My belly settled where I planned it to, not overwhelmingly fat but a solid paunch that rested comfortably inside of pants.

Unlike the rest of my clothes, I knew exactly what I wanted my tank top to do. My breasts expanded a bit, slowly engulfing the shrinking shirttail of the top until it better resembled a sports bra. My cleavage line was exaggerated by the stretch of the neckline and the transformation of the fabric made my girls almost pop out to you. They weren’t absurdly large, but they were certainly larger than the boobs you’d see on most skinny girls. Getting large was something that gave most girls huge boobs; something that I learned, in this reality, by slow gain that I had accumulated throughout high school and college. By the time you had confessed to me that you liked me, that you loved me, I was already around this size. My breaths were just a bit slower and more ragged as a result of all this extra weight, and my body felt so jiggly and soft. I could tell that you were in love with it, but you were still conflicted. 

I snapped my fingers, immediately making you aware of everything I have changed. Your loving gaze turned into a shocked one. You stood there, sputtering for about fifteen seconds trying to find the words as your eyes darted around at everything that had changed about me. I even did a little awkward twirl, intentionally shaking my body to show how much fat I had accumulated in what was only a couple of minutes of meticulous change. 

“How?” You finally shouted, obviously exasperated and conflicted about what just happened. “How did you do that? You were so… s-skinny just a few moments ago!”

“Reality bends to my will, honey,” I replied simply, my own senses feeling utterly disoriented at the sudden change but slowly shifting to this new normal. I hated these moments, where what was real was fundamentally questioned, and I could tell that you were having a hard time with it. “At least the reality that I am surrounded by. You are the first person that I’ve allowed to know.”

“So,” You began, obviously still in utter shock at much of what you knew about the world being… utterly false. You seemed on the verge of a panic attack, as you sometimes had, and I was ready to jump to you and help. “This is what you’ve been holding in for so long. You always seemed nervous, like you were hiding something, even from me. You can manipulate the world around us… and anyone in it.”

“Yeah…” I replied, feeling finally understood. I could finally feel more comfortable around you, knowing that you knew what I could do. My cheeks puffed up even more as I tried to give you a shaky smile. “I can manipulate the direct world around me. But I can’t manipulate everyone… or, well, I won’t.”

You put your right hand on the wall and leaned against it, putting your left hand into your pony-tailed locks. I moved to comfort you but you seemed a bit distant. “My fiancee is a damn wizard. You’re a damn wizard, but you never told me about it.”

My mind raced in a million directions, thinking about how I could help you. You were spacing out, going into your own mind. Your movements grew frantic; your eyes darted across the room as fast as they could and you seemed ready to bolt out of the room. “I am not a wizard! I just… have had these powers for as long as I can remember.” I moved closer to her, wanting to try and comfort her. “I changed myself in this way because I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Well, I… do. I, I just… I just...” You were breathing heavily, trying to gain your bearings. I grabbed your hand, pulled you off the couch, and brought us to the bedroom. I decided against just warping reality to put us under the covers; it didn’t sit right with me at this moment. Instead, I made it as if I had just gargled a large container of mouthwash, the burning aftertaste lingering in my mouth but my breath as fresh as it could be.

It was mid-day again and I was cuddling close to you. The only thing different about our reality was that my divot in the bed was now gigantic, a black hole of sorts that draws anyone else nearer to it, that draws you closer to my pillowy form. I was cautious about this, only bringing you into my embrace if you were okay with it. And you seemed to be, as disoriented as you were, so I did so.

“Shh. You can wait. Just talk when you’re ready, honey.” I hushed you down, letting you take your time with your words. This was something new to you, and I knew from experience that even I took a few minutes to gain my bearings. You seemed to slow down, to get yourself back to feeling okay quickly, but I knew you’d be frazzled for a little while. So, I held you close against my form for a little while. Your fit form nestled cozily into my belly, your face resting near my breasts and our legs interlocked in the best way possible given my rotundity. “Think about our grounding exercises. Five things you can see.”

Without speaking, you started pointing around the room at everything you could. The bed was the first choice; followed by the door; then the walls and the blanket and, finally, you stopped on me. I held you tight, embracing your lithe form in a warm hug. “Now, four things you can feel with your hands.”

I was surprised to feel you peel the yoga pants from over the top of my belly with your left hand, your right hand indicating that they were the first thing. While you had seemed so apprehensive about the changes before your panic attack, you seemed to innately gravitate towards them during the grounding exercise. Then, without a word, I felt your hands begin to slide over me. You squeezed my hefty stomach with your grabby left, the whole thing sinking into my gut. While your left hand slid up my torso, slinking under my sports bra to rest between the squishy pillows on my chest, your right one slid slowly over my hips and towards the back of my body. As you reached my wobbly rear and went for a strong grab of my left asscheek, I seized up. You seemed to calm down more quickly, engrossed in my new-found flab, mesmerized by its softness and unable to pull away. Finally, you brought your right hand from under my sports bra and brought that first finger up again. Then, you brought up three more, indicating without a word that you had felt four things.

“Uh, three things you can hear,” I stammered out, unprepared for what you would choose next.

Suddenly, my stomach rumbled, telling me how hungry I was. You smiled, putting up your right pointer finger. You then pointed to the diffuser and its low hum, putting up your middle finger. That’s two. I expected you to find some other sound, like the blowing of the wind or the sound of the covers rustling, but you just put your ear by my lips as I breathed heavily, putting up a third finger. You, of all things, chose my breath as a way to get closer to me and fulfill the requirement. Sneaky girl.

A bit more confident in how you’re feeling, I more confidently ask: “Two things you can smell?” Again, you pointed to the diffuser. It was an obvious choice; one I had set up for you to choose. But, you also chose something I set up as an obvious choice: My own breath. The mouthwash scent I chose to put in my mouth was another one of your favorites: cinnamon. It reminded me of the cinnamon rolls that I would almost certainly make for you later on, but also of the cafe that I had on my mind for lunch.

I breathed a heavy sigh. “Now, you know what’s coming, sweetie. One thing you can-- mmpf!” I couldn’t finish that because you pressed your lips into mine. Your tongue pushed between them, pressing onto mine. While I was confused about why you would french kiss me, you cheekily put up a single finger, pulling away and giggling uncontrollably. You definitely were doing better now, able to be so coy and so capable of stunning me. You had become quite comfortable here and, while I had more plans in mind for today, they could wait as we embraced.


	2. Part 2: Creampuffs and Ribeyes

You didn’t let me know that you felt better for hours and hours afterward. I could tell, but I wasn’t about to let this moment go. You were quite willing to explore this new me as much as you could. Your hands, cold at the start, quickly warmed and each electric touch sent jolts up my spine. Under the sea of covers that dressed our “California Queen” bed, as we called it, our bodies mixed together in euphoric delight. Legs tangled in one another’s; lips near-constantly locked; one’s hands exploring the other’s body in a familiar yet somehow foreign manner, we kept on and on as time seemed to melt away. I couldn’t get enough of you; I was putty to be molded, filling in my curves bit by bit to your absolute delight. And, as the afternoon went on, I could tell that it was going to get better and better.

My breasts grew fatter for you to play with and squeeze, making me whimper and moan as you got more and more grabby with the voluptuous flesh in front of you. My top was off at a moment’s notice, your hands releasing my chest with the same frenzy that a child opens their biggest present. What were once D-cup boobs that comfortably fit into a sports bra without issue slowly expanded, their weight decreasing their perkiness but not the fun that you had with them as you kissed them, fondled them, even suckled on the wonders to make me jolt and curl my toes. I was squirming around from your attention, and that just made my tits shake about and give you even more of a show.

My stomach pooched out a bit more, giving you more cushion and rubbing against your solid abdomen. While it didn’t quite keep up with the rest of my body, it oozed out around your waistline as it grew, squishing against your body as well as the form of the messed up covers. You certainly didn’t shy from giving it attention, and your embraces tickled. I had to keep myself from breaking out in abject laughter from your embraces, each brush of the finger setting me off once again. I could see the lascivious fire in your gaze as you kissed it, kicking the covers back with your strong legs to look directly into my eyes. Your anxiety had melted away over a long session of cuddling, and the cause of that was clear: The fire of lust had overtaken you, your abject desire for my form overwhelmed any fear of the unknown that you harbored before.

My ass filled out more and more for your spanks and your grips, and you easily provided it enough attention. I wanted you to be able to forget about everything in the world for just a little while, and what better than to utterly conform to your greatest fantasies. My yoga pants were peeled off next, leaving me just in a pair of bright blue knickers that did little to provide me decency, the back long since scrunched between my cheeks into a thong. Those, you left on; the malleable playground that my body had become for you seemed quite enough, and I wasn’t in the right state of mind to question that at all.

The rest of me chubbed up significantly. My double chin became a permanent fixture of my form, rounding out with the rest of my face, with the more rigid features melting away. My neck slowly disappeared in the fat of my chins, and the rest of my frame started to fatten up to compensate for the absurdity of the growth that had come from my extremities. My haunches thickened up significantly; my arms blew up in size, particularly in the area around the shoulder, and my back accumulated multiple rolls that I could feel press against the soft mattress as you put your weight atop mine.

In all, I had blown up into an absolute butterball. You called me your cream puff, everything as spongy and soft as your favorite dessert. With them in mind, I asked you if you wanted a little bit of dessert in bed. When you finally spoke after so long, stringing a coherent statement about the fact that it would get crumbs in the bed, I simply waved a box of puffs into view. “Honey, crumbs aren’t a problem with me around,” I responded, much to your utter delight. The puffs, through my own planning, were sent to us about an hour ago, or so the real world said. To you, they just appeared out of thin air; you were aware that I did something to make them arrive. You were in on the secret, so the changes were noticeable and even apparent to you.

I held up a single creampuff. I could feel you squirm as your body pressed into mine, instinctively grabbing for it. Your excitement and gluttony were palpable, but I was not about to let you get it so easily. Your mouth started to water, your focus on my body was lost, and every part of you wanted nothing but the cream puff. They were your favorite, of course, and I got a whole six-pack. So, I did exactly what would drive you wild: I took a huge bite into the first one. The cream filling threatened to shoot out the other end for how much it pushed out as my bite took out much of the pastry. You jumped at the rest, wanting to secure your prize. I stopped you, holding up a finger.

“I have one question, and they are all yours, regardless of how you answer.” I smile devilishly. You seem unfazed, grabbing still for your glorious cream puffs. You didn’t say a word, which made me feel like I could continue with my demand. “Would you be willing to go to dinner tonight as my fiancée, freed from all inhibition, able to eat as much as she pleases? Needless to say, if you say yes, I will provide you with a form that… better suits absolute gluttony and decadence if you would like.”

“Yes. On both accounts.” You didn’t even hesitate, giving your response in fewer words than I thought possible from you. My devilish smile melts into a gleeful giggle, my arms shaking and my body wriggling with the delight and thought of the two of us arriving in the steakhouse as bodacious beauties, far past the definition of Rubenesque and practically at the point of bulbousness. I shoved the rest of the cream puff into your mouth, watching your cheeks blow up like a chipmunk’s as you struggled to deal with the girth of the pastry as it began to melt in your mouth. Still, the moment you put that first pastry to your lips, it was too late to turn back on what was going to become the first night of the rest of your life.

I never had to actually make the cream puffs more addictive or anything. You just jumped at them with aplomb, ready and willing to put down an entire pack of delights from a local bakery all by yourself. They each disappeared down your gullet quickly, the cream being caught on the edges of your lips before being deftly licked off by your nimble tongue. You seemed in bliss, wrapped up in the euphoria of your fat future wife by your side and the taste explosion that was each pastry on your tongue.

As each cream puff disappeared down your gullet, your body slowly expanded, taking up more space in the bed. Your belly started to puff out into a doughy mass that, first, pooched over your shirt but, then, became covered by it, the fight between your fat and your clothing continuing for precious moments. It quickly overwhelmed the rest of you, squishing into mine within moments. It felt quite soft and, when pressed against mine, felt more right. As I thought, you would seem more like your true self as a fatty, and your body was only getting started.

Your boobs positively exploded out of your shirt, which quickly morphed around them to fit your mammaries. Still, the cleavage window of your shirt was stretched to its limit, giving me a full view of your knockers and the shape they took squished against each other. I was positively delighted at the sight, thinking of how I would be able to play with them. These beauties seemed to be like they would be the biggest part of you, but I could tell that I had to wait and see.

Your hips and thighs expanded, the love handles surrounding them pooching out and bunching up into rolls on your prone form. Due to the fact that you were sitting, you looked as if you were rising upward as much as you were outwards as your form widened and your ass started to bloat up. The rest of your body seemed to follow suit, each aspect of you thickening to meet the look of your extremities. It was very much in the way that I had blown up, save for the fact that you were shaped more like an apple with your broad shoulders and bloated tits. I imagined you as a big cowgirl, wearing a bikini and a little horned headpiece and even a tail, mooing for my touch.

As you finished the last creampuff, unaware of the changes but aware of the deliciousness of the food, you started to take stock of your form. “Woah,” You said with a slightly deeper tone of voice.

“I know, right?” I replied, nudging her arm.

As reality seemed to shift around us, the memories of a fat me and a skinny you were supplanted by a life where the two of us were fatties. While I was still always the chunky girl you remembered in this world, you blew up over time once we got together. We were about the same size at my base form, but I had expanded into a super-sized woman for your pleasure and enjoyment. I still had popped the question to you today, but that question was accompanied by your favorite treat: The six-pack of cream puffs that you downed. Still, I knew, even with the cream puffs in your stomach, you would do just fine at the steak house tonight. We’d probably have ended up eating enough to get us banned had our choices been limited to a single option on the menu due to the cost of the meal. Still, what you did eat was nothing sort of magnificent, and I couldn’t help but watch.

Once the last bite of the last pastry went down your gullet, you let out a hearty belch. I blushed, giggling profusely, at the unladylike gesture, knowing full well I would be doing the same with a belly full of steak that evening. Cradling your tum, you seemed in a state that mixed the bliss of what you had done with the pain that came from an overly full stomach. Your face was contorted into a blissfully pained grimace, your lower lip sinking behind your two front teeth and your eyes squeezed shut. While your right hand sunk into the top of the dome of fat attached to your form, your left arm cradled its mass with excess sagging over the expanse of your forearm.

I scooted closer to you and placed my hands on your prodigious gut, rubbing slowly, letting my fingers ease their way between your fat. It seemed to break its natural pattern of folds as my fingers ran through the flab, its shapeless form bending around my left hand as it slid down your right side and onto your love handles. Moving my right hand towards yours on the top of the gut as my left hand met yours, I gave it a hearty squeeze as I moved my ear to your navel. As I began to massage your belly more activity, I listened to the sounds of your body and nuzzled close to you.

You had started belching to relieve gas much to my utter delight. I didn’t want you to feel pain from the amount of food you had swallowed-- a huge lunch of a french dip with a massive basket of fries followed by half a dozen cream puffs is no slouch at all, my dear-- but the food coma I could tell was coming for the both of us would be legendary. I kept squeezing and jostling your tum, playing with it as I embraced all of you and kept you releasing air. Your belches faded relatively quickly, replaced by heavy breathing and a few soft moans as you entered a deep food coma.

Soon, after a few minutes more of playing with your predominant belly, I heard light snoring coming from above me. I smiled softly, shifting close to you. You always looked so adorable when asleep, and the fact that your face seemed twice as wide now made it even more beautiful to me. Your cheek squished into the pillow and pushed outwards, the other extremity of your left one pushing your top lip out of place a bit. Your long cocoa-colored hair splayed out a bit on the pillow, but it only added to your imperfect beauty. It was in moments like these where I found your unexpected attributes of beauty: In the way that you looked beautiful even in the unflattering moments; how utterly cherubic you looked (even while skinny) as you slept, even in the way that you snored. I wasn’t here for some pretty face, even though you had quite a beautiful one on you; I was here for all of you.

I could have watched you like this for ages. So, I just spent the time exploring little parts of you, waiting until you woke up. I subtly slimmed myself back down, choosing also to make some of your experience with this form more manageable by slimming your tummy back down a bit. While I wanted to make sure that you had an appetite to match your eyes for once, I also didn’t want you weighed down by a tum that was bigger than those baby blues.

You had slept for a couple of hours, digesting and snoring. I, myself, had passed out a little bit in, a bit exhausted from using my own powers so much. One of the biggest downsides to such a power usage was great energy exhaustion, especially given the fact that I had not used my powers on even such a small scale. If I had practiced it enough, I could have manipulated whole streams of reality before I was this age. Still, now is better than never.

I dreamt of an entire reality of fatter individuals. In said dream, I had made it so that fat was normal and a part of puberty, where skinny youth slowly plump up over the span of a few years into round butterballs, facsimiles of the twigs that many of them became in this world. Diet commercials were replaced with commercials dealing with comfort and happiness and, while fitness wear existed, it had been co-opted and marketed under the category of pure ‘loungewear’. In it, you seemed completely content with life around you, indulging as often as you saw fit. Here, you seemed more like the you that you could be, that you had seemed to want to be in those days, and what was only a couple of hours of rest seemed like days passing by. I wasn’t about to force you to stay like this-- you still have the capability to move between forms at will-- but your doppelganger here seemed fat and happy.

I, with my knowledge of what I saw as the true reality, had both been in awe of this life and become intrigued with the possibilities of what I could do with the world later on. I would have to have your approval first, given that you were aware of this, but a part of me sincerely longed for this. And, considering the fact that I finally gave up the ghost and used this ability for my own sake, it seemed to call for a precedent that I didn’t want to set without purpose. I held off subconsciously, leaving this world, at least for now, in the realm of dreams. I had to train myself to make such a world a proper reality, but my impatience could spell my own doom if I am not careful.

\----

You woke me up, shaking me lightly to arouse my consciousness. “You shrunk me down,” Were the first words to escape your lips in that moment, as if you were somewhat disappointed that I had. You had been; I was able to see that on your face.

“Well, I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t struggle to move about during the day,” I started, my mind trailing to how big I could have made you if I had wanted. “While I wanted to let you enjoy this, I also wanted you to not struggle to walk everywhere we went.”

“I mean… fair enough,” You replied, defeated. Nowadays, you were used to a weird sense of fluctuation in weight whenever we messed around with each other’s bodies, but the first time is always the hardest. I never wanted to hurt you, but you were so excited about the prospect once you calmed down that I couldn’t help but indulge it as much as I could.

“Plus… I wasn’t going to make reality change to make dresses in our sizes both feasible and affordable,” I said, bringing in the logistics. “While we have money, to make decent looking dresses in the zaftig sizes we carried in bed a couple of hours ago would be a task for tailors that would command a hefty fee, no pun intended.” You giggled, taking in the pun as if it was intended. That was another thing I couldn’t help but love about you: Your laughter, from the hearty guffaws found in your viewing of good slapstick to even the small chuckles from moments like these.

“I get it. You want us to look our best when we go out for my birthday. When we get home, though, all bets are off, okay? I want us to nurse our gorged bellies together.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I pushed the covers off of my heavy-set frame and moved to the closet. Two long, flowing dresses hung on the extreme ends of each side. On the left, bookending my side of the closet, was the baby-blue dress that you loved so much, only sized up to my current form. Each strap was relatively thick and wrinkled through a decorative floral button into the bodice on either end. It was conservative in terms of showing cleavage and the lower half was looser on mine in order to better accommodate my luscious hips. It flowed down to just past my knees, barely getting caught on my prodigious hips due to the custom tailoring but also giving a lovely sight for those captivated by my rear end-- i.e. you.

On the right was your dress. It looked a lot like mine, but it had some striking differences-- where mine was double-strapped, yours was single-strapped, and reinforced with a bit of extra padding for the sake of your prodigious chest. While my dress was a vibrant baby blue, yours was a rich cream color. The patterns were similar and our dresses ended at the same place on our bodies, but the waist of your dress was higher to balance out your form a bit. In all, it was much more suited for your own figure and accentuated the parts of your body that deserved the most attention while not leaving out the rest.

While we still had time to get to the restaurant, given the fact that we mostly slept the afternoon away, there was the question of traffic. We took a quick shower together (and, yes, I know how hard it is for you to resist my curves and how hard it is for me to resist yours) before quickly adorning our beautiful figures with these perfect dresses. With everything that had happened, we took a few minutes to admire how they fit our forms now, given that these were once garments for our far slimmer forms that had taken shape in the fantastical manipulations that I had performed. Then, we grabbed our pocketbooks and got on the road to get there on time.

The car ride was, predictably, a little rough. Getting used to a fatter form, even with the subconscious changes that facilitated how both of us operated within the confines of something like a car, was a conscious effort that took a while to truly get down pat. I nearly tried to change the seat alignment, but I found my gut and thighs pressing against the wheel long before I reached my old position in the vehicle. At that moment, while I was focused on driving, I could feel every part of me slightly jiggling with every stop and the feeling, when compared to my memories as a svelte lady, was uncanny.

You seemed to bring up the same troubles. Your breasts were a hindrance with the seat belt and, while the struggle was adorable to watch, I had to fight my own internal battle to not reduce your breast size to make it easier on you. This was both because I enjoyed watching it and also because I knew you wouldn’t want me to change it. You seemed to take an inherent curiosity that, even today, you still have with your ever-changing form. As the seat belt kept stalling, your repeated jerks sent your body shaking just a bit, making my mouth water. Once you finally found a good place, you, almost without thinking, adjusted what seemed to be a little pad to prevent your breasts from chafing into place. When I saw you recoil in confusion, we both burst out laughing, knowing that some things were still going to be automatic even if we didn’t even consciously do it beforehand.

Driving wasn’t an issue; I had passed my driving test with flying colors years ago and time in the city meant that the skill got a constant exercise. Parking, however, was. I parked a little close to the car next to us in the garage connected to a building that held various pricey establishments that included the steakhouse. A little Prius had itself ended up too close to the line, and I found that, as a result, my hips were getting in the way of getting out of the car. Where I used to be able to slip between the slightest crack in the door to get out, I now needed the door open most of the way even to squeeze through. It took another try of backing out and back in to actually get myself out, something that you seemed ever so amused by. It was an unintended side effect of changing reality with a conscious awareness: Some things just took trial and error to get down pat.

Getting up the stairs to the restaurant was also a challenge. With our luck, the elevators were down. Walking up the stairs as fat women in heels proved an interesting challenge, to say the least of it. We had to wait a few minutes for our reservation to be ready, given that we left quite early to beat the rush hour traffic that might have caused us to miss our time entirely. The decor of the steakhouse was cozy, with a simplistic atmosphere and big windows. The fact that it was on the fourth floor of a relatively tall building with a broken elevator meant that, while we had been breathing heavily and already feeling a bit tired as a result of four flights of stairs and the heft of carrying all this flab, we would have a beautiful view of the surrounding area.

And it was a beautiful view that the windows beheld; from our table that sat just by one of these large windows that faced adjacent to the street, we were able to see down the road into the shopping district. Bright, colorful lights and name-brand stores dotted either end of the road, and I could see, nearby, an ice cream establishment that the two of us loved and attended. Another day, maybe, we could park in a garage and go get large milkshakes and peruse the plus-sized clothing stores as the fatties we were meant to be. But tonight… tonight was gonna be good.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked me, realizing I wasn’t looking at the menu. I simply grinned, pointing to a particularly long section that listed out various choices of starter, entree (with a side), and rich, sweet dessert. It was enough to make my mouth water. “I already planned out our dinner, honey. It’s a three-course meal. And you’re going to finish. Every. Single. Bite.”

Your eyes darted back to the menu, flipping through the pages to figure out what I was talking about. When you did, you seemed taken aback but still intrigued, still anticipatory of all the food that would be disappearing down your throat that evening. You were probably still feeling the cream puffs from a few hours ago, but I had been able to tell you were still nowhere near full. No matter; tonight, a celebration of your birthday, would put your stomach to a delightful test.

“Am I…” You started but trailed off, pointing towards the middle of the menu.

“Your choice, honey. But I would really recommend that you get the ribeye.” My voice was dripping with temptation. Tonight wasn’t a night to hold back, and I knew that you knew it. Your mouth trembled as you mulled over your choices of everything. I wasn’t going to force you; just nudge you in the right direction, push you subtly to get what you really desired instead of what would be the lowest calorie option.

Because tonight was yours.

A waiter came to get our orders. We each ordered water, and you also ordered a glass of white wine to accompany your meal. It wasn’t me to judge your taste, but… really? Red wine would have paired so much nicer with the meal, but it was your night so I didn’t speak up at all. He asked if we needed more time before our order and you responded that we did not. I motioned to you, wanting to hear your order out loud before I started on mine. You started with a caesar salad. A respectable choice, really; I couldn’t fault you for passing up more delectable options or baked goods in favor of something that I knew you loved. And, from what I had heard from reviews of this steakhouse, their salads were refreshing and prepared you for the rest of the meal to come. The photo of it certainly looked attractive: Freshly cut romaine hearts; croutons; and long, thick slices of parmesan tossed in a creamy dressing speckled with a copious amount of freshly cracked black pepper.

Next… the ribeye. You said it! You asked for the ribeye, coming fresh and hot with a thick disc of bleu cheese butter; you could let yourself loose in this beautiful form of yours, your pretty face dolled up with makeup and your body clothed in a way to flaunt your voluminous features and go all the way into a steak that was more than a pound of meat. On the side was a classic accompaniment to such a cut of meat: Buttery, rich, dense mashed potatoes.

And, finally, you finished with the bread pudding, another dish I’d heard you speak fondly of and watched you fawn over when we went to see your family at Christmas. In all, the meal choices had seemed like a love letter to your childhood and to everything I had learned about you in the many years I had been yours.

In contrast, my meal choices were mostly the same. To start, I chose the caesar salad alongside you, being entranced by its description and depiction, wanting its entirety for me. I also chose the ribeye, mostly because it was the biggest of the meat options, but also because I loved the taste of the fat on a cut of meat as much as I loved the meat itself. It was, to me, one of the closest experiences one could have on earth to the eternal bliss of Heaven itself: Feeling the oily fat mingle with a well-seasoned, tender bite of beef on my tongue. The only true deviation I actually made to the order was choosing the towering slice of New York Cheesecake instead of the bread pudding, but it did not quite matter; we were both indulging ourselves here in a celebration of your twenty-fifth birthday.

When the waiter walked away with his list of our requests, we sat and waited. The moments passed awkwardly, even with our conversations about life and about what we’d do after we got home. The complimentary bread and olive oil, while enjoyable, was nowhere near filling. It just satisfied us for the moment, whetting the appetite as the first course came to us.

Even when it was just mopping up olive oil and spices with a thick piece of focaccia, watching you eat was an art. You practically inhaled food, even when you were skinny, but it never seemed like you rushed it. Your method was methodical, clockwork, having a bite prepared and at-the-ready to take the moment you swallowed your previous one. I let you have the majority of the caesar, as starving as my gravid stomach was, and I just sat and watched the beautiful work in action.

The caesar salad, when it arrived, was no different. While I went on autopilot, savoring each wonderful bite of the cold, creamy dressing and the crunch of the romaine and sourdough croutons, you were crafting perfect bites methodically and still finishing faster than me. Time seemed to slow down as I watched you pick apart that salad, seeming not to run out of any ingredient until the whole of the course had been devoured.

Waiting for our ribeyes and mashed potatoes had felt like an eternity; while the salad was delicious, it was nowhere near filling for two fatasses such as us, and it was never going to be anything other than just a single part of the meal. You were eyeing down every waiter that had something that even vaguely resembled the thick, juicy cut of meat that you were ready to scarf down without hesitation. It seemed like they started going out of your path with how aggressive you looked, ready to jump the next person with two sizzling slabs stacked onto their plates. It was so like you to be like that, and it was another thing to add to the list of why I loved you so: You fought both our battles.

Finally, it arrived. Our ribeyes, sizzling with a huge dollop of a blue cheese compound butter rapidly melting off the sides of the cuts. The fat seemed ethereal as if it would slowly melt away onto the hot plate that was placed onto our tables with frequent warnings from the servers and their thick towels. You didn’t seem to care much; you were concerned with what was on the plate instead. The mashed potatoes, besides them, looked rich and creamy, loaded with butter and cheese whipped into them, and speckled with flakes of black pepper that dotted the sides. There was nary a skin in them; their yellow color and velvety texture giving way to a symphony of flavors as each spoonful practically melted away on the tongue.

You dug into the steak first; it was over a pound of beef, a thick cut that spanned most of the length of the plate. You smoothed the butter over the whole of the mass and then mopped up the first bite in the mixture of juices and melted butter that had accumulated under the steak before placing it into your mouth. I followed suit, as curious about your method as I was excited to enjoy the flavor.

We both seized up, basking in the euphoria that was caused by some of the best food we’d ever tasted. The steak was perfectly cooked, medium-rare for me, and it gave way just enough to be easy to chew. I cut off a bit of fat to join it to the bite, and the contrast that it gave to the leaner meat made the bite even more enjoyable. The first swallow made me sad to say goodbye to it; I never wanted this moment to end and, as it seemed, you didn’t either.

I had lost myself in the ribeye and potatoes. They disappeared down both of our gullets without fanfare; the mashed potatoes played well with the ribeye if a bit too rich… if such a thing was even possible. Still, the flavors played wonderfully. Everything about the meal justified the hefty price tag and added to the heft of us two ladies. While I tried to maintain a sense of refinement, given the fact that we were in a pricey steakhouse, there was this sense of relaxation that I felt in your presence. You seemed to do the same, and you’d told me since that you never quite cared for such things.

After the second course came to an end, I found myself slowly massaging my bulging stomach, knowing well that over a pound of beef and a thick mound of mashed potatoes was probably a bit much but also knowing that I would be eating a big slice of cheesecake in just a moment. They took away our plates and left us alone, me cradling my stomach when nobody was looking and you looking just ready to knock out another meal. Your appetite amazed me then as it does now, and it was going to continue to amaze me that evening. With more heft on your form, it seemed like your already gargantuan appetite had inflated to almost herculean levels.

Thankfully, my dessert seemed a bit smaller than yours. I saw the size of your bread pudding, topped with a large scoop of ice cream, and gawked. It seemed a bit much for someone with a salad and a whole steak and plate of mash in their belly, but I knew you. I knew that it would be going down into your body without a shred of hesitation.

My dessert, in comparison, was a lot more simple. It was just a basic cheesecake with a graham cracker crust; a strawberry compote dripping down the sides, and a nice dollop of whipped cream on top. It was simple enough, and it tasted as basic as it looked. That is to say, it was still a delicious dessert. The flavors all played well together and the cheesecake itself was less rich than I expected, with a slightly sweet flavor and a very light texture. It was a fitting end to the meal; for a few moments, I left it with just a few bites remaining.

“Come on, honey,” I heard you say from across the table between bites of your bread pudding. It sounded a bit huskier, probably given the fact that you were breathing heavily. “You gotta finish. We’re eating every bite, just like you said.” My eyes widened. You remembered, and I should have known that you’d hold me to the same promise. I took a preparatory breath, ignoring the pains that were coming from my stomach, and shoveled the last mouthfuls into my stomach. They dropped into my stomach, making me feel very turgid. I let out a quiet belch, which released a bit of air and made me feel a bit better.

You finished not long after, and we both relaxed back in our chairs. The check was quickly paid for, and we tried to compose ourselves. You were mildly drunk on a few glasses of wine, and I had to help you down the stairs, coaxing you out of your own heels to make the journey a bit easier. You carried them in your cleavage, a testament to just how prodigious your boobs were. I used a little bit of my power to make sure they stayed there… and to make sure we didn’t go tumbling down the stairs with how heavy we were and how tipsy you had become.

“Come on, sweetie, just-” I led your inebriated ass down the stairs as you stumbled and pushed yourself to me. “Just get down nice and quietly.” You had hiccuped from how full you were. It was just the start to a night that you would never remember but that I would come to never forget. “Sorry, h-hic-honey! Hard to, uh, hard to keep myself on the stairs.”

“I- huff\- I get it. You were-huff\- enjoying yourself.” I kept my words sparse, given I had basically been supporting both of our weights down a couple of flights of stairs and was running out of breath. You were trying your best, but the guard rails almost weren’t enough to keep you from tumbling.

After a few minutes of trying in vain to keep you upright as we went down the staircase, we finally got to the car. I had to stop and catch my breath before getting in. Thankfully, the Prius had left and the spot stayed bare, so I had no problem getting into the car. You, however, struggled to get the seatbelt on after ambling slowly and awkwardly into the seat. I had to help you, bringing my face and body close to yours. Your hiccups had stopped, but you seemed to feel a bit of discomfort from all you had eaten.

As I clicked the seatbelt onto you and started to ascend back into the driving position to take you home, you pulled my face towards yours and locked me in a deep but sloppy kiss. There, we stayed for what felt like an eternity, my fat fingers resting on your chubby cheeks and your porcine digits pressed gingerly into the back of my skull. You didn’t seem to want to break away, so I obliged for as long as you were actually willing to kiss me. I let you make the decision to end the kiss, which you did but not without a bit of flair, slowly pulling away with your lips still puckered.

“Honey,” I asked as I got back into the chair. “How are you feeling?” “I think I’m doing a bit better now,” You replied, holding your stomach as it started to make audible noises. “I probably overdid it back there.” “I could, uh,” I started awkwardly, trying to put this in the best way possible. “I could shrink you down a bit… if you want, of course. Or, uh, remove your feeling of t-”

You shut me down with a single finger. “You’re not doing a thing, Beatrice. This night was about me letting go, and we’re going to go back home as we are and live with our choices for a little while. Now, let’s go home. I think I’ve got a little surprise for you~” She winked, pulling down her dress to reveal her huge bra.

Well, you shut me up there. While I knew this wouldn’t last forever, I knew I had the whole evening, at least, to live with my choices with you, to know that someone else knows that these choices existed, and to be told not to revert them. For now, I was in your command, and I wasn’t going to change a thing until you said so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the second half that I was hard at work getting done over the last couple of weeks, mostly, and I wanted everyone to enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for not crossposting this sooner! I was focused on getting my college work finished while doing this on the side, and I lost track of my time. I thank you all for being patient with me, and I hope everyone is well.


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